KELLEY AND DAVE'S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE: WEEK 5, ARIZONA, UTAH, COLORADO

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KELLEY AND DAVE’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE

The Big Trip West…Notes From the road:

WEEK FIVE. Thursday, June 19:Antelope Slots! One of my major goals on this trip was to photograph the famous Antelope Slot Canyon in the Navajo Tribal Lands. I had hoped to be able to photograph the famous Wave but I also had known that it was necessary to register online months in advance to be eligible to enter the Navajo lottery to even hope to have a chance at winning the opportunity to pay for your turn to see the Wave. Phew! This competitive system requires visitors who have pre-registered to be on the reservation on the day assigned and even then, only if your name is one of the 20 or so pulled from their “hat” out of the 100 or so lucky people pre-scheduled for the drawing, will you get to pay to see and photograph this remarkable site. I realized that was not going to be doable for me. (But it was a bit frustrating when I met some people from Germany at Buckskin Gulch who smiled as they hiked out of the Wave. They said the Wave was only 5 kilometers from where we stood! Oh so tempting.) Still the Antelope Canyon Slots were a truly wonderful experience. I took a photography tour which meant that we would be guided at the right time for the light beams to be photographed and the guide would steer people out of your shot. I didn’t realize that I would be given 2 minutes to set up and take my shot! I had rented a tripod and was not familiar enough with its mechanics to move so swiftly into my shots so I was under a lot of stress to get the job done. Plus, I had to get on my knees and into contortions I was not used to in order to get in position for my photographs all the while competing with 11 other photographers vying for the same shots. We spent 2 ½ hours in the slots where I experienced surreal and mystical light streaming down the sides of the glowing warm-orange stone walls to the sandy floor at the bottom of this narrow canyon. Hopefully I will get a few remarkable photographs from this shoot. No matter what, it was a truly wonderful experience I won’t soon forget.
Dave had a good experience playing the Lake Powell National Golf Course. While I was shooting in Antelope Canyon he enjoyed shooting a good round of golf as well as the beautiful view overlooking Glen Canyon Dam and the Colorado River. As an added bonus, finally, after 4 states that boasted the Road Runner as their resident bird, Dave saw his first Road Runner! We had lunch together at the golf course after my photo shoot and then came back to the hotel for a rest before we left for Horseshoe Bend a few miles away.
It was still pretty hot at 5:30pm when began to walk the mile down to Horseshoe Bend Canyon. Despite the breezes and the Cool Ties (newly acquired cloth ties filled with silicone that we froze in our cooler) around our necks, we were feeling pretty hot and parched. This time we had enough water to get down and back but we felt more like pouring it on our heads than into our mouths. When we got to the cliff’s edge we were looking into the light of the late afternoon sun so we walked a good deal of the rim to see if we could get a better angle for a view into the beautiful green waters of the Colorado River below. We saw the rafting tour we had hoped to take and as they rounded the beautiful Horseshoe Bend I had wished that they were not booked for tomorrow for we had planned to raft the Colorado in the morning down to Lee’s Ferry. We stayed for about half an hour absorbing dramatic scenery and the intense heat. When we returned to the car it was 104 degrees. Time to cool off in a cold shower.
In the early evening we walked to dinner behind our hotel to Ken’s Old West Restaurant where I pigged out on BBQ ribs, potato salad and the salad bar. Surprisingly after all that desert heat, I needed a sweater once the sun set. After dinner we had dessert cocktails at the bar and listened to a local rock and roll band. I had hoped for another music and dance experience like we had in Bandera but sadly few dancers were on the dance floor. The music was less polished than Bandera’s and although they billed themselves as ‘country’ they were far from it. When the lead guitarist put on his Elvis Presley wig we decided it was time to hit the Jacuzzi. Tired after our big day, Dave dove for the bed and I hit the computer in the quiet of the late evening to try to record our travels before it left my weary brain.
Friday, June 20. The Romance is over. Well, partly. I still love the vistas, the spectacular desert light, the rich reds and oranges of the bluffs and mesas, the vast, uncrowded open spaces; I always thought I would love to live in the desert southwest but since I have had a more intimate experience with this magical place I am finding, like most people when reality upsets fantasy, that 100 degrees is still hot, no matter that it’s dry, that the closest health food store I could find when in Page was miles away in Flagstaff, AZ or Cedar City, UT, that if you want to get a variety of clothes, groceries, or other necessities at a reasonable price, your options are not only limited but you have to drive a hell of a long way to the store. Forget it if you want to use a cell phone. The towns are quaint to visit but far apart for developing friendships. And if it is theater, concerts, opera or symphony you like, it’s probably there, once or twice a year. Lectures? Maybe if you landed near a college town. I guess I am just used to the east coast where most every convenience, cultural activity or restaurant is within 20 to 50 minutes away. All right, where I live I complain that I have no mountains or hills to climb, and true, the vistas are pretty predictable. I can also be heard complaining about the crowds, the traffic congestion, the lines in stores. I guess I am more accustomed to creature comforts than I thought. I do have a healthy respect for those who are attracted to and thrive in these desolate places and I am very glad there are still some wild and untamed open spaces left for us to experience, unsullied by telephone wires and other human references. Even if we can only experience these wild places for a short time in our lives, the emotional connection is so profound that the memories will last a lifetime. Maybe the best solution for me is to be a regular visitor to this sparsely populated ‘Mecca for the Outdoor Enthusiast’, contributing in a small way to population increases here (wrinkling much sooner in the hot dry sun) and still maintain my residence in the cultural hub of Florida’s warm but not too hot west coast contributing to their traffic congestion and lines in stores, re-reading my notes, reminiscing with my photos and just stay put. Or not.
We had moved last night to the Best Western for its Jacuzzi, pool and hot breakfast. We got one and a half out of three. The pool was fine although covered with construction debris and boxes from workers who were replacing all the air conditioners in the building. The Jacuzzi, unencumbered by most of the debris, was heavenly. But the hopes of a great hot breakfast were soon dashed as we surveyed the spread. Now maybe we are being picky here: when we stepped out into the hall from our room the irresistible smell of bacon drew us to the dining area three floors below. I began to visualize my meal on my plate. So far so good. When I got to the steam table I overlooked the grease that the bacon was swimming in and plunked two pieces down next to my pancake that turned out to have an interestingly chewy edge to it. Okay, I didn’t expect real maple syrup, like one of the other places we stayed in, but this syrup was still in the nasty Log Cabin bottle next to the ketchup intended for the powdered, dried out and crumbly scrambled eggs (although the man from India put the ketchup on his pancake, maybe he knew from experience that it would have disguised the pancake’s rubber Frisbee like quality). The oatmeal was in a crock pot, a good sign that it might be the real deal. When I opened the lid to spoon some into my bowl I found the “oatmeal” had congealed and dried up against the edge of the pot more closely resembling glue than food. Dave said it’s probably instant, just add some water. Reluctantly I did and the congealed mass ended up tasting remarkably like the cardboard box it likely came in. There were donuts for those who gave up on the hot meal as well as fresh fruit (which we ate and took for the road) and sugar cereal in case you didn’t get enough sugar from everything else that was offered. Oh well, what do you want for free? The room was very nice and the Kurdistan staff spoke quite good English so all in all it was ok.
Throughout our trip, and most especially in the national parks, we have run into large numbers of people visiting the west from places such as Germany, France, Japan, Israel, England, the Netherlands, and China. Many of the restaurants we have eaten at had visiting students from the former Soviet Union working as support staff. With fewer Americans around we began to feel like we were in a special international community.
Our itinerary for today took us to Monument Valley and Bluff, UT but since it was only about 2 hours from Page Dave and I agreed that we would relax in this nice hotel, I would work on my photo editing and he could use the pool, the exercise room or just read. After about half an hour of “relaxing” Mr. Grumpy rapidly turned into Destination Dave and was urgent about getting on the road again. And I thought I couldn’t sit still! After pressing me to finish my work as fast as I could we left the hotel for a late lunch before leaving Page for points east. I managed to talk Dave into a Sushi restaurant called the Blue Buddha (I have a Buddha theme going now) which turned out to be surprisingly good. This Asian restaurant in the middle of the desert was run by a Caucasian who prepared an excellent Phatt Bowl with chicken, noodles and peanut sauce for Dave and fresh seaweed salad, miso soup and yellow tail sushi with a California roll for me. The six Navajo Indians next to us managed the chopsticks with impressive dexterity. Did I just say there was no diversity in the desert?
We gassed up the car (we are now getting the drill about the scarcity of desert amenities) and headed for Monument Valley. Dave got more quiet and testy as we drove further into the desert which made me testy so the ride was less than pleasant. I later found out the poor boy had a headache and his stomach was off. Why is it men don’t like to communicate about things like that? There were very few stops for photos on this leg, not because there was a lack of beautiful subject matter. We passed extraordinary rock formations, checkered mesas, vermillion cliffs, and as we neared route 160, the flat expanses turned hilly and spit out beautiful rocky buttes, but because I was desperately trying to compromise I tried to ignore all that. ‘Tried’ is the operative word here.
Monument Valley and its landmark mittens look beautiful late in the day and as the sun was sinking lower it not only made for good photography but it helped to lower the temperature from the 100s back down to a “comfortable” 95. My plan was to explore this vast and unique country trying to capture my own artistic impressions. Dave’s plan was to get to the room in Bluff.
The only options for viewing nature’s orange-red sandstone art in Monument Valley is to hire a Navajo guide and his jeep for $65 each for 2 ½ hours (the sun was already slowly sinking) or drive the 17-mile poorly graded road yourself. Yep, we chose to drive it ourselves. Big mistake. The washboard road into Buckskin Gulch seemed like a super highway compared to the rocks, boulders and pot holes I had to negotiate while trying to find the right light for a photo shoot. All the while Dave was looking disgruntled at the dashboard with occasional glimpses at the map and the scenery.
Archeologists have discovered more than 100 ancient Anasazi sites and ruins in this valley dating from before 1300 A.D. The sand dunes retain surprising amounts of water; this water combined with the limited rainfall runoff in the canyons and mesas is how the Anasazi were able to survive planting corn and other crops scattered throughout this hot and arid region. No one knows when the Navajo settled here but for generations these Native Americans have raised small crops and herded sheep and other livestock in Monument Valley and throughout the 16 million acre Navajo Reservation.
I turned the car around after about a mile (or at the John Ford Monument, however long that was) and forgave most of the photo shoots I had intended to take in this rich afternoon light.
We left the official Indian site and drove up to Goulding's Lodge, Trading Post and Museum. Harry Goulding was a friend of movie director John Ford and invited him up to Monument Valley to see the unique landscape. The rest, as they say, is movie history beginning in 1938 with John Ford’s epic picture “Stagecoach”. Other films made here include How the West Was Won (1942), The Searchers (1956), The Legend of the Lone Ranger (1980) and Back to the Future III]/i] (1988). Numerous television shows and commercials have featured these unusual free-standing rock formations. Ignoring the movie museum and local history, I was on a mission to find something to settle Dave’s stomach but $2.00 for a coke did nothing to settle his irritated stomach or his pocketbook so we took off for the Desert Rose Inn and Cabins in Bluff, UT. (And he thinks I’m stubborn!)
As we traveled east on route 163 the scenery changed dramatically from the vast open expanses of desert punctuated by the occasional red rock monument common to this valley, to dark grooved mountains resembling an O’Keefe painting. The road turned a corner through a dark red rocky outcropping and the landscape dramatically changed to unveil low, light colored sandstone rock as far as the eye could see. As we approached the town of Mexican Hat we began to see the bottom of Canyonlands National Park with its own unique layering of rock and stony architecture. The balanced flat “hat” rock on top of the tall stone pedestal that supports the “Mexican Hat” dramatically told the story of how this town got its name.
It was dusk when we arrived at the charming log cabin resort called the Desert Rose Inn where we checked in and immediately left for one of the two restaurants serving dinner in town. The Twin Rocks Cafe stopped serving at 9pm. We just squeaked in at 8:50pm to order dinner. Dave got his much needed comfort food (hot turkey sandwich) and I took my comfort in a bowl of excellent homemade chicken soup with a soft and squishy grilled cheese sandwich. The beautiful moon in the dark night sky illuminated the Bluff Ballroom, a large natural alcove or cave near the restaurant that has been used as a dance hall and a place for social gatherings since 1880. Too tired to explore it, we headed back to the Desert Rose with its rustic porch and our cozy pine walled room to relax and rest up for the next day’s adventure.
Saturday, June 21. We took our strong morning coffee with some delicious blue cornmeal pancakes at the Comb Ridge Coffee across the street from the Desert Rose. It was not recommended by the hotel, maybe because it attracted an alternative crowd, but it was by far the best deal in Bluff. Andrea who co-owned this little restaurant with her husband David, was very sweet but running in circles (in sandals and a long-flowing flowered skirt and tee shirt) attending to her patrons who sat at tables and on sofas. One “patron” came in on four legs with a long tail. When I finally got her attention and asked (I figured if anyone knew she would know) where the nearest health food store was, she laughed and told me to order through the internet. In front of the sofa the coffee table was strewn with interesting books on subjects such as the challenges of farming for Native Americans given the restrictions we have placed on them, or books about Native American Storytellers and their legends and practices. One book in particular was entitled A Navajo Legacy by John Holiday and Robert McPherson. Other books on the local geology or environmental challenges in this region also caught my eye. I picked up a book called Eating Stone: Imagination and the Loss of the Wild by Ellen Meloy and found it hard to put down. In it Meloy “chronicles her communion with the bighorns and laments the growing severance of man from nature, a severance that she feels has left us spiritually hungry. Wry, quirky and perceptive, Eating Stone is a brilliant and wholly original tribute to the natural world.” This book will surely find a place in my library. This book led me to another Meloy book: The Anthropology of Turquoise. The book looks at how color and light inform human behavior, in particular, the color turquoise, which ties together cultures from the American Southwest to ancient Persia, Tibet and Afghanistan. Meloy reports neurobiologists have suggested that beginning in infancy, humans have a keen sensitivity to color and an aesthetic sense which is an intuitive link between a chromatic band and emotion that can then grow “as strong as a fingerprint defying logic, inviting the helpless surrender of a love affair. Intoxication with color may express itself as a profound attachment to landscape.” I could especially relate to E.O. Wilson’s comment “…people…also gravitate to environments that reward their hereditary inclinations…” I my internal fingerprint strongly embraces the light of the desert southwest and is firmly connected to the color turquoise and the cultures that cherish this stone. I could have curled up with my coffee and settled in for the day but I was quickly distracted by a beautiful display of handmade jewelry and found myself with a new multicolored stone necklace of hessonite, garnet, citrine, tourmaline and turquoise to remember my connection to this special place.
I picked up a local free rag at the coffee house that had some interesting stories in it. One story echoed what we were told by park rangers at the Grand Canyon. Studies have shown that hunting with lead bullets leave dangerous fragments in the meat of the animal. If the animal decays in the wild or other animals consume the lead from eating their prey, that lead can contaminate the predators, the ground and water affecting other species including humans. Even when the bullets had a “clean pass” through the animals, “scary amounts” of lead fragments were recorded in the dead animals. If people consume the meat that was shot with lead bullets, surprisingly high concentrations of lead often remain in the food causing potential health risks. Studies are underway to test hunters who eat the animals killed with lead bullets to determine lead levels in their blood. Some states are giving hunters non-lead bullets with compositions that are not toxic to animals, humans or the environment.
After breakfast we set out to explore historic Bluff where we are told Zane Gray’s cabin was nearby. It wasn’t long before I was sneezing again. I looked up to discover I was standing under huge cottonwood trees with their seedpods bursting and blowing their spring snow all over the small town. The Historic District of Bluff including Bluff Fort is immediately off route 191. Bluff is a border town, an oasis in a stark desert, on the edge of the homelands of the Ute, Paiute and Navajo. Over 200 Mormon Pioneers came in the early 1880s with over eighty wagons and a thousand cattle to fulfill an assignment from their church to settle a peaceful community in Ute and Navajo lands. Their arduous journey to Utah took them 5 months and 180 miles in the thick of winter through the now famous “Hole in the Rock” (a nearly impassable rock crevice with a vertical drop of 1800 feet to the Colorado River Gorge) where many travelers lost wagons, livestock and their lives on the harsh journey westward.
The historic fort and surrounding homes help to tell of the struggles these early Pioneers confronted traveling to Bluff, settling there, and finally relinquishing the land to the Native Americans and other hearty souls better suited to farm and live in this challenging environment.

“ ‘I have been takeing bitters for a week but Ive been telling Em that I guess it is the effects of liveing out in the cold all winter, now liveing out in the heat through the summer and its just thawing the frozen bread out that we eat last winter and no wonder we feel a fool. I am going to have a house this week and then it will take four yoke of oxen to ever get me out of it again.’ Lizzie Decker”

The San Juan River runs through Bluff at the foot of the 300 foot sandstone cliffs and I saw several signs offering rafting trips. Kayakers, vans with canoes in tow, and cyclists were staying at the Desert Rose Inn and I wanted badly to join them as they headed out for their adventures. Instead, we forged ahead to meet our “destination”. I had forgotten to charge my Ipod and since there is very limited reception on the radio (and no cell phone service) it was a long quiet ride to Canyon de Chelly. But this was a good thing because it allowed me to focus more on the experience of being and doing, enjoying the time and place, the solitude and beauty of our location in the rocky and rugged Navajo Reservation.
Leaving Utah (where we were told most of the land is government owned) we crossed south into Arizona and saw wide open rock and sandy flatland quickly change to red rock monuments jutting out of the vast open spaces as we headed south on route 160. Then abruptly, rounding a rocky corner we encountered a small herd of sheep crossing the road in front of us and jangling their noisy bells. Of course I stopped the car to see them and as I did I thought about the signs posted frequently along the highway reminding drivers that there is no drinking and driving and no alcohol allowed on Navajo Reservations. With all the wandering sheep, horses and cattle, not to mention the wildlife and other humans, I wondered how many alcohol related highway deaths had taken the lives of humans and animals.
The very rural road south on 191 takes you by several paddocks for rodeos, horse training, and “saddle roping”. There were infrequent collections of homes, a hogan or two, a windmill, and miles of telephone lines and fencing along this long arid valley nestled between the red and tan Navajo Sandstone cliffs. In spite of the fences, many cows, horses and sheep run loose in and around the highway. Teepee communities join houses in the tiny community of Round Rock, at the junction of routes 191 and 12.
Throughout southern Utah we frequently saw signs about the endangered prairie dog and as the sign predicted, we did not see one, however, as I stood by the car at my first photo op in the Arizona Navajo Reservation, Dave saw prairie dogs popping out of holes and scampering through the sage brush and scrub. Now he would have totally missed this opportunity to see this cute little endangered animal if I hadn’t stopped to take a picture! The temperature was 95 degrees at 1:30pm and the heat radiated off the ground in waves. The scenery became even more dramatic returning north in the midday sun on 191 as the landscape became colorfully layered with bleached grasses in the foreground, soft greens carpeting the valley, red cliffs glowing in the sun and behind them, like strong, quiet observers were the steel gray mountains. On the last leg of the desolate journey to Chinle, AZ and Canyon de Chelly we passed over a dozen revival tents and signs announcing their upcoming “revival events”. Interestingly on the same road we also passed many traditional round adobe and mud Navajo Hogans and some not so traditional, octagonal in shape and built out of wood. Clearly there is a blending of religious traditions in this reservation.
Although Canyon de Chelly is not hard to find, it is so far removed from most habitation that you think you may have missed a turn somewhere. We did not. I missed a turn of another kind when I thought I had made reservations at the Best Western. It turns out that when I had made my many phone inquiries about lodging, I had in fact confirmed our room instead with the Thunderbird Lodge inside the park. When we pulled into the lodge I was pretty excited and thought we had struck a real coup. The place was closest to the beautiful canyon and ruins, nestled in the cottonwoods on the mesa. The charming Native American designed rooms were located in attractive adobe buildings; a grassy park shaded by lovely trees was the setting of our courtyard just outside. Everything seemed to be in order except our reception by most of the Native Americans who worked there. Unfortunately it seemed like our being there was a major inconvenience to everyone we came in contact with. I don’t know if it was a general resentment of some sort or just the management style of this resort but in contrast to the kind and friendly way we had been treated at the Best Western up the road (also run by Native Americans) we were feeling like an unwelcome fifth wheel.
We made the best of this situation and since very little seems to bother Dave (except his destination issues), we ceremoniously spread out our picnic blanket in the shade of the tall cottonwood trees (yes I was still allergic and yes I sneezed but what can you do?). We had a lovely picnic lunch before exploring the south rim of Canyon de Chelly. It was 96 degrees at 3:30pm and the car registered 108 degrees radiating from hot ground but there was a tiny breeze coming across the canyon and we relished every breath of that hot air.
The canyon was every bit as beautiful as I had hoped for. The spectacular South Rim Drive extended 16 miles to the where the pavement ends at Spider Rock Overlook (Spider Rock is an 800 foot sandstone spire) with many view points and trails out to stony ledges that seem to hang precariously on the edge of the cliffs. Although it was quite hot, I was determined to explore as much as I could while Dave hung back in the shade as much as possible. We were fortunate in our timing to view this canyon since the light is best in the late afternoon. The rim trails were not long but they were very steep and often marked by cairns piled on the large, flat sandstone ledges. In several places along the rim we had an opportunity to look down into the canyon. We saw miles of lush dark and light green forested valleys looking like big soft cushions complimented by the soft blue-grays from the beautiful (but sadly water thirsty) Russian Olive trees on the canyon floor. Some Native Americans live on the canyon floor with no wells for running water and no electricity (although some do have generators and we even saw a TV dish on the roof of a small house). These people generally farm in the canyon but most have second homes on the top of the mesa. Wild horses run through this valley and we saw several with our binoculars. We also saw many people burning large piles of brush. We were told that the National Park System along with families occupying the farmland were trying to clear out the invasive Russian Olive trees and Asian Tamarisk plants placed there years ago by the Civilian Conservation Corps for erosion control. These invasives have been displacing the cottonwood trees and other native plants that provide food and shelter to the native bird and animal populations. I do understand the problems invasive plants pose to the environment however looking down from the rich red rocks at the canyon rim, the blues of the Russian Olives, contrasting with the fresh spring green leaves of the shrubs and cottonwoods on the canyon floor was simply beautiful.
Millions of years ago forces from the Defiance Uplift and the uplift of the Colorado Plateau created mountains and streams. As the plateau and canyon walls rose, surging rivers cut through the rising rocks that later, along with water, wind and erosion, have created the uniquely beautiful canyon valley we see today. “Desert Varnish” is the name given to the long dark streaks on the canyon walls in Canyon de Chelly, not unlike the Navajo Tapestries of the canyon wall on Lake Powell in Page, AZ. The “varnish” has been created over centuries of manganese-fixing bacteria living on the canyon walls in moist areas where rainfall runs over the rims. The microbes “digest” the minerals from airborne dust and the metabolic process results in the striking “tapestries” or “varnish” on the sandstone walls.
Canyon de Chelly has been inhabited for nearly 5000 years, longer than anyone has lived uninterrupted anywhere on the Colorado Plateau. Remains of homes and images on the canyon walls are all that remain to tell the stories of the ancient people who lived here. White House Overlook is perhaps the most famous viewing spot in the canyon as it affords wonderful views of the ancient White House Ruins (named for the long wall in the upper dwelling covered with white plaster). These ruins are perched on a ledge 500 feet below the top of the mesa in a rocky alcove just above the canyon floor across the Chinle Wash.
As we were viewing the ruins from one of the many overlooks we met a kind Navajo man, who happened to be a local pastor, in town to give his Sunday sermon at the Baptist church. As he pointed out the Navajo farms and hogans on the valley floor below he told us about the crops they grow and their challenging living conditions as well as some of their social and religious ceremonies. He also told us about the Ancient Ones and how they traveled in the more populated areas from roof to roof on ladders for their ceremonies.
We drove back into town to have dinner at the Best Western where we had been treated so well and after a meal of too much Navajo Fry Bread and lamb stew we drove home as the sun was setting fire to the mountains and the horses and cows walked lazily home on the sidewalks beside the road.
Sunday, June 22. Morning at the Thunderbird Lodge at Canyon de Chelly is quiet with surprisingly cool and pleasant breezes. My stomach and head do not resonate with the ambiance and I vow to avoid Navajo Tacos in the future. Breakfast was within walking distance from our adobe motel room. We headed over for a very pricey and not delicious breakfast then signed up for our jeep tour of Canyon de Chelly. We had been advised at the Best Western not to do the group tour of Canyon de Chelly but instead to do a 3 hour private tour with a guide for only $40 more. We should have listened. Twelve of us boarded an open air jeep at the lodge with hopes of having a dialogue of some sort along the way. Instead, we jostled and jiggled along the sandy, dusty road and baked in the hot sun for miles along the canyon floor with no explanation of what we were seeing until the jeep would abruptly stop and our driver-guide (whose name I could not understand) would step out of the jeep, mumble something about the site in a decidedly disinterested monotone, step back into the driver’s seat and hurl us further into the canyon along the bumpy road. Now I know there were some heinous things that happened to these early Navajo people but it was difficult to understand what our guide was saying and therefore challenging to feel much emotion for the terrible things that happened. Others who had taken tours told me how they were moved to tears when they heard these stories but I suspect they had private tours with better qualified guides. I did do some research on my own and piecing together the bits of information our guide gave us I came up with the following:
In the winter of 1805 the Spanish on an expedition, trapped 115 Navajo on a ledge above the canyon. The Spanish shot and killed them all in the place that was later referred to as Massacre Cave. In 1863 while the Navajo men were away from their homes the Spanish came looking for gold and not finding it, took the Navajo women and children and sold them in Mexico as slaves. The Navajo men returned and found their women gone without a trace. Assuming Apache and other Indians raided their villages, the Navajo went on a rampage for revenge. Area Indians complained to the US Government and Kit Carson was ordered to begin a brutal campaign against the Navajo. In the winter of 1864 Carson entered Canyon de Chelly where the Navajo took refuge on the 19 acres atop Fortress Rock where they survived for three months with stockpiles of food. Finally after fighting and being starved out, Carson’s troops captured the remaining Navajo, burned their hogans, destroyed their crops and animals, and forced the surviving Navajo on a tortuous 300 mile journey known as the Long Walk to Fort Sumner in New Mexico. Many perished from hunger, thirst and fatigue and those that survived the walk were interred with poor food and inadequate shelter, suffered diseases and were brutalized while in captivity. After four years and a court battle, the Navajo were allowed to return home to begin to rebuild their lives.
Anthropologists place the entry of the Navajo into the American Southwest at some time around 1400 A.D. The Dine people as the Navajo call themselves were hunter-gatherers who later adopted farming and pastoralism. They lived in extended families that were widely dispersed yet they had close links to certain geographical places and an intimate knowledge of the natural world. Their stories are carried down through ceremonial chants that are still sung today.
Leaving Canyon de Chelly we stopped in the town of Chinle and as we collected some groceries for our trip to Mesa Verde we watched wild horses calmly walk along the sidewalks of town past the gas station, the local A&W parking lot and into the fields beyond. Traveling back north on 191 we passed the Windy Valley Rodeo near the town of Many Farms where dust devils created swirling sand-colored columns several hundred feet into the air. Cowboys, in their 10-gallon hats and long sleeved shirts rode by in the horse path that runs parallel to the highway while wild horses grazed in the farmland nearby.
Heading east on 160 towards Four Corners the land is flat scrub brush for miles with pale pink sandstone mesas in the distance, and behind the mesas in the clouds, the gray mountains of Colorado. Dave was satisfied with a drive-by at Four Corners and since I was grumpy, cranky and feeling pretty sick I wasn’t about to complain. When we got to Cortez we stopped at the Cortez Visitor’s Center to get our bearings and collect information about Colorado. We had cell phone coverage for the first time in days, so we stopped at a picnic table in the shade of a large tree to make our phone calls to family and friends.
We left Cortez in the late afternoon for the short drive to Mesa Verde. The land was open and rather flat on the valley approach to Mesa Verde but soon the enormous “mesa” loomed ahead. On the ascent to the Morefield Campground we climbed 1,000 feet up steep winding switchbacks with long unprotected vertical drops at the edges of the roads to reach our destination at 8500 feet above sea level. After a quick tour of the campsite we staked out our spot high on a hill overlooking the rocky mesa. We drove back to the Ranger station, bought our tickets for the tours the next day and went back to set up our tent. I had no energy and my stomach was off, I was crabby and generally not feeling well so Dave did most of the work, struggling with the tent stakes in the impenetrable ground. I set the camp table and we dined on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, great for an upset stomach. I downed the high altitude medicine from Tibet and crawled into my sleeping bag. It was still daylight when I promptly fell asleep at 8:45pm! We were assaulted twice in the middle of the night with two separate rain and wind storms, some so fierce I thought the tent would blow away. Each storm came and went so quickly I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or it was real. I did wake around 1am with a major reality check when I heard a bear growling and banging on the dumpster about 50 feet from where I lay in the tent. I tried to rouse Dave but he slept like a baby while I held my breath hoping the bear would not discover a scent appealing in our tent. We had been forewarned about bears by the rangers and were told not to bring anything that smells into the tent including food, soaps, toothpaste or sunscreens. All of our toiletries were safely locked in the car as instructed but we later learned from some cyclists who had been at Yellowstone recently that all vaguely scented items needed to be locked in a “bear box”, food needed to be eaten far from your tent and nothing should be locked in the car because tents and cars had been torn apart for the errant crumb or two. I am glad I did not know that when I lay in the tent listening for the bear’s retreat into the woods.
Monday, June 23. We woke up to 4 mule deer grazing around our tent foraging for food. I wondered if they had found any of the crumbs from last night’s sandwiches that the bear missed. I got altitude sickness again and took another dose of my Tibetan altitude sickness medicine. I soon felt well enough to walk down to Morefield Village for the All You Can Eat Pancake Breakfast at the Knife Edge Café, although Dave ordered the pancakes, I sipped my tea. It was very chilly in the outdoor café and I huddled over my hot tea for added warmth. I found a ranger and told him my bear story. He asked if I had seen the bear and I told him he was crazy if he thought I was going to open up my tent to look at him! As the sun made its way over the mesa the warmth soon followed and I was taking off layers by the time we returned to our campsite.
Mesa Verde is not really a mesa at all but a cuesta. When the Spanish first saw the large green bluff it appeared to them as a “mesa” or “table top”. It was indeed green, hence the name Mesa Verde. In actuality, the cuesta has long high ridges or finger canyons that extend out like fingers from the main bluff. The first such finger canyon we drove out on was called Chapin Mesa. The drive out to the cliff dwellings wound along the steep canyon walls and several pullouts afforded us expansive views of Cortez, the mountains of Durango, Telluride and the Ute Mountains but I kept my eyes mostly locked on the twisting road ahead and the sheer drops at the edge of the road. Plenty of wildflowers colored the high altitude road along the ridges. Yellow arrowleaf balsamroot, red penstemons, blue lupine, and white and pink bindweed danced and sparkled in the sun under the new and old growth pines. Fires from lightening strikes have claimed miles of forest on the mesa leaving tall ghostly columns as far as the eye can see. In fact between 1996 and 2003, five large wildfires burned over half the park’s 52,000 acres. Although it is shocking to see so much “damage” from the fires (the pinion pine and juniper that provide food and shelter for humans and animals take 300-400 years to re-establish) the good news of this fire is that in addition to the new growth of shrubs, ground covers and wildflowers, many more archeological sites have been discovered that were once completely covered by the previously dense foliage.
Mesa Verde is much larger than I had anticipated. It took us an hour to drive from our campsite to the end of Chapin Mesa where we toured the ruins of Cliff Palace and the Balcony House. The cliff dwellings represent the last hundred years of habitation by the Ancient Ones. Prior to this time, or around 1400 years ago, the cliff dwellers lived in Pithouses (later evolving into their ceremonial round kivas). During its heyday, 30,000 Ancestral Puebloan people lived in approximately 600 alcove houses and 4800 mesa houses throughout the pre-Columbian site. It is believed that Cliff Palace was designed for large gatherings and celebrations since many kivas and dwellings were concentrated in this large alcove. The structures in Mesa Verde are dated using a process called dendrochronology which examines the rings and other elements in the juniper wood beams used in construction of the ancient dwellings. Juniper was mainly used because the natural oils prevent insects and decay and the natural twisting in the trunks made the beams stronger than most other woods. The fact that these dwellings still stand with little decay is testament to the construction and resourceful techniques that were used by these people.
The Ancient Ones were a peaceful people who used selective farming practices tilling 8 feet of topsoil on the mesa tops for their crops. When the cliff dwellers moved from the mesas into the cliff alcoves, foot and toe holds were cut into the soft sandstone walls to assist in the steep daily climbs in and out of the dwellings to the mesa tops and valley floors. Depending very little on hunting, eighty percent of their food came from farming squash, corn and beans. Check dams were used to collect runoff waters and the alcove dwellings were selected where water would weep out of the corner walls. Seven to nine gallons of water a minute were believed to be seeping daily on walls in the Long House alcoves alone. Although water was plentiful in the alcoves, the annual rainfall here was estimated at 15-20”, certainly a challenge to these farmers. The early corn was small eared and more likely resembled a grass than the corn we know today. In spite of the small size (approximately 3” long corn cobs) enough corn was grown on top of the mesa to feed 15,000-20,000 people. Corn does not propagate on its own so human intervention is necessary to secure a good crop requiring additional labor for these already very busy people. This staple was very important to these Ancient Ones so special ceremonies were held to insure a good harvest. Researchers have discovered 800-year-old corn pollen on the terraces in Mesa Verde and corn cobs were found to be used in construction of the adobe walls as chinking in the adobe mud. Natural calcium carbonate was used as a glue to hold the mud together in the stone masonry.
After climbing down ropes and up and down the steep walls using the ancient toe and hand holds we ate a hearty lunch and headed for the final tour of the day at Long House on the Wetherill Mesa about 1 ½ hours up and down the “cuesta” fingers from Chapin Mesa. Long House is the 2nd largest pueblo in the US and 2nd oldest house in the Northern Hemisphere (Cliff Palace is the oldest). There are 21 kivas and 150 rooms in Long House with over 150 people living there at one time. It is believed that there could have been hundreds of people on the balconies during their ceremonies. The acoustics are amazing here. Sounds bounce off the walls and echo down the canyon walls. It is easy to imagine the chants and sounds that would have echoed here so many years ago.
There are 21 descendent tribes of the Anasazi including the Ute and Zuni. These ancient people were either displaced or moved away because of drought or other unknown challenges. It is believed that they dispersed to the Rio Grande-Four Corner regions of the southwest. Although the Navajo are not decedents of the Anasazi or Ancient Ones, “Anasazi” is the Navajo name used to describe the Ancient Ones but the current spelling and pronunciation is incorrect and actually means enemy which is far from the reality of this clan related, peaceful and close-knit society.
After an exhausting day of long drives, hiking, touring and note-taking we headed for dinner at the highly recommended Far View Lodge’s Metate Room. We had a good dinner with a fabulous view of the rain clouds approaching the Chapin and Wetherill mesas and before the sun set we saw a rainbow pour its light onto Chapin mesa. A lovely way to end the day. On our drive back to camp we were excited to see a bobcat dash in front of the car, another reminder that we were lucky to be in a rural and wild environment like Mesa Verde. Before finally retiring to our tent, we sat under the star-lit sky and listened to a Park Ranger’s lecture on Mesa Verde’s wildlife in the campsite amphitheater.
It was sunny, cool and peaceful at 6:30am on Tuesday, June 24. The birds welcomed the morning from the Utah Serviceberry trees in the Jemez Loop Campsite in Mesa Verde. Dave and I walked to the camp store for coffee and yogurt then back to the campsite to pack up the tent for the rest of the trip. There was a cool breeze but still it was quite comfortable around 65 degrees. And no bears woke us up last night which I had mixed feelings about. I was thankful that we had no dangerous bear encounters yet still would have liked to see one from a safe distance.
We left the campsite around 9:30am to drive the 18 plus miles to explore the Spruce Tree House and Museum at the Chapin Mesa. I walked down to the cliff dwelling by myself since Dave was nursing a sore toe. There are over 600 cliff dwellings in this community. Most are about 5-10 rooms in size but the Spruce Tree House was just a bit larger and had several re-roofed kivas. Although it was large enough, the proportions and layout made me think I was in a large doll’s house. The many signs of previous habitation including ceilings darkened with soot, produced a special feeling of intimacy here.
The Ancient Ones believed Mesa Verde was sacred and that the lands had great spiritual powers. Many kivas were built for ceremonial purposes including time keeping which was so important to this agrarian society. Spruce Tree House was my favorite dwelling tucked far down in an alcove near the valley floor. Perhaps it was because I went there alone, or because of the experience of climbing down the inside of a kiva but I felt more in tune with the Ancient Ones in this special place. The kivas were generally cool in the summer and were kept warm (60 degrees or more) in the winter with sage brush and juniper fires. I could really feel the energy of the past as I looked at the charred walls from years of smoky fires; the grooves carved into the soft sandstone floors tell of repeated footsteps long ago and the ancient hand prints on the walls depict their special signatures that speak to us centuries later. Pictographs painted with a mixture of water and haemetite or iron decorated cave walls a mile down from Spruce Tree House but as much as I wanted to see them, it was hot, I was tired and Dave was ready to leave so I climbed back up to the top of the mesa and we headed out of Mesa Verde towards Durango. On the hour-long drive we saw beautiful stands of wildflowers and wild horses grazing at the side of the road.
Leaving Mesa Verde we were brought back to reality on the road to Durango. It felt like we had been in a time warp, in another time and geographical place, but we knew we were in Colorado when the snow-capped mountains in distant Durango pulled us closer to the magic of this historical town. As soon as we arrived we went straight to the Durango-Silverton train station to pick up our tickets for the next day’s adventure, then immediately booked a room at the Durango Lodge (recommended by Katy) in town for the next two nights. Dave and I walked past the Dempsey Mural on the corner of Main Ave and 10th street depicting the 1915 10-round fight with Andy Malloy that took place in across the street. We grabbed a (huge) late lunch at Carver’s Restaurant and Brewery then walked through town before waiting for the 5pm train to arrive. Dave was like a little kid pacing the tracks in anticipation of the steam locomotive’s whistle announcing its return to town. The train chugged into town past the historic Strater Hotel where Louis Lamour wrote several of his books (Mandy worked here during her brief stint in Colorado). It was 88 degrees with 13%!h(MISSING)umidity when we arrived in Durango but after the train’s return, the sun slid behind the mountains, the winds picked up and it cooled down to the low 50s. It was quite chilly as we walked the shaded river trail along the churning Animas River. Joggers with their dogs, cyclists, and other casual walkers joined us as we smelled the cold, damp spring runoff rushing down beside us from those snow-capped mountains we saw on our approach into Durango. As we walked along the river we were reminded of our Thanksgiving trip three years ago that put us in Durango during a cold and windy snow storm with barely enough clothes to keep us warm. Thanks to another good recommendation from Katy, we had dinner at the well known East by Southwest Restaurant conveniently located near our hotel. It was late so Dave and I split a yummy crab roll and squash tempura then walked back to Durango Lodge for a dip in the hot tub to warm up before going to bed.
Wednesday, June 25. The historic Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad depot is less than a block from our room at the lodge. Beginning at 6am the steam locomotive blows its signal to announce the first departure (ours) to Silverton at 8:15am. So who needs an alarm clock in Durango when you have the train? We boarded the train at 7:45am for the 3 ½ hour ride through some of the most beautiful country in America. We chose to ride in the open air gondola giving us the best unobstructed views from the train. Of course open air means no heat or protection from the wind and the first hour was a bit chilly but in the excitement of riding on the train coupled with the fantastic scenery rushing by, I soon forgot about the temperature and wrapped myself in the wonders of the natural world that slowly passed by.
The Denver and Rio Grande Rail Road was founded the town of Durango in 1880 as a means to convey the silver from the mines in Silverton 45 miles north of Durango. This coal-powered steam locomotive was very lucrative in it’s hey day. The railroad continued to expand to other mining towns like Telluride, Ophir and Rico. Later the train added a rail south to Farmington, NM. The mines declined in the mid 1910s and the depression in the 1930s brought additional financial challenges but Hollywood discovered the Durango-Silverton narrow gauge railroad in the 1950s with the making of the movie “A Ticket to Tomahawk”. This movie was followed by a stream of movies made on location here such as “Across The Wide Missouri”, “Denver and Rio Grande”, “Viva Zapata”, “Lone Star”, “Around the World in Eighty Days”, “How the West Was Won”, and the more recent “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”. We passed a house that was allegedly the set used for Butch Cassidy’s famous bicycle ride however the movie credits place that house in Utah. I will have to follow up on this when I return home.
Our train chugs along spewing black smoke beside the wild Animas River. The track hugs rocky outcroppings in the wilderness of the San Juan Mountains and our gondola car rolled along with breathtaking drops to the river and valley below. People lined the pastoral areas to wave to the train while photographers trekked over mountain passes and hung out of helicopters to get a shot of the historic train as it wound through the mountain passes. Grown men wore engineer hats and coveralls and excitedly leaned out the train windows to watch as the train stopped to replenish its water at each of the three water towers along the track. Gas powered chase cars loaded with water followed the train to put out fires that might start from hot coals or ashes spewed out from the train’s pan. Narrow gauge rails are only 3 feet apart while regulation rails are 4’8 ½” apart. The larger regulation rails were a carry over from the European railways that based their size on the old Roman roads. (Those old Roman roads were built to accommodate the width of the outside edges of the horses’ behinds pulling the chariots.)
After 3 ½ hours of passengers’ pure delight and soot in our collected hair, mouth and clothes, we arrived in the old mining town of Silverton, the County Seat and only town in San Juan County. Surprisingly we were told that the EPA determined the mountain air around Silverton is some of the nation's most pristine. I guess the train smoke is dispersed more quickly than I thought, although there are some in Durango who would argue, complaining about poor air quality from the train’s smoke. We were lucky that the sun was shining for the entire train ride but clouds were collecting in the mountains surrounding Silverton and it wasn’t long before we had a few sprinkles. But no matter, we walked in and out of the sunshine exploring the old bordellos, saloons, the old town jail on historic Blair Street and hotels and restaurants on the more sedate and proper Greene Street until we landed in the Brown Bear Café for lunch.
Silverton, named because they mined silver by the ton, was temporarily home to the legendary Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson and Doc Holiday. As you walk down the streets of the restored cowboy town it is easy to imagine the sauntering gunslingers leaving a bordello or saloon.
We left Silverton on a bus headed back to Durango with a different view of the river and mountains. We were much higher than the train and the bus traveled far too close to the edge of the road for my comfort. We were told that there were no guard rails because there were frequent avalanches and in order to clear the roads from the massive snow dumps, the snow plows needed to have nothing impeding their way. In 1993 the snow was so high in Durango that people were snowboarding off the roofs of the houses in town. We passed the Sheldon Headwall where extreme skiers climb the mountain to ski straight down the headwall at speeds over 100mph. Engineer Mountain with its pyramid face checks in at 12,000’ and can be seen as far away as New Mexico. We passed near the Grenadier Mountains, Continental Divide and headwater of the Rio Grande on our hair raising trip back to Durango. We looked in vain for elk but did see some deer at 10,910’ along Molas Pass. Elk are three to four times the size of deer. The estimated elk population in the San Juans is between twenty one to twenty two thousand as compared to approximately thirty two thousand deer. In front of the 14,000’ Needleton Mountains, at over 10,000’ high, Molas Lake Campground is the highest campground in North America. It is easy to get a nosebleed just thinking about these heights.
It was between 10-15 degrees warmer when we dropped into Durango from the higher elevations on our bus tour and we passed a river rafting outfit that I quickly noted down. We had talked about taking a raft tour but remembering how cold it was in the morning I thought if we could get on a trip in the late afternoon while it was still warm it would be the better trip. I was right. Luckily we found Southwest Whitewater, a great outfitter that happened to have room in their 4:30 raft trip down the Animas River. After a half hour’s rest from our train and bus excursion, we suited up for a cold and exhilarating two hour ride on the rapids of the Animas River. Due to my recent rotator cuff surgery I was under strict doctor’s orders not to paddle and Jen, our rafting guide made sure that I would be safe. Dave and I joined experienced paddlers Brian and Judy (a wonderful Irish couple formerly from MA) and their grandson Brian and granddaughter Alex. We thoroughly enjoyed their company as we all pounded through the icy cold river waters in class 2, 3 and 4 waters into the notorious Smelter Rapids. At one point in our water journey we met up with the same train we had taken to Silverton as it headed to Durango on its return trip. We waved to the couples we had traveled with in the gondola that morning, as they chugged along on the tracks above us while we flew through the chilly waters below. Jen felt sorry for me because I couldn’t paddle so to make sure I got the best experience possible, she steered the boat sideways so I could take one of the huge waves broadside. I got completely soaked. BRRRRR!!! (Thank Jen…) I can’t wait to do it again but in warmer waters!
We said our grateful goodbyes after an amazing trip then hurried back to the lodge to take a hot shower before heading out to dinner. The Himalayan Kitchen on Main Avenue in Durango was a wonderful trip down memory lane to our honeymoon in Lhasa Tibet. Dinner: Dave had Himalayan Thukpa, a hearty noodle soup which is a mixture of chicken, lamb, egg, vegetables and house-made pasta (noodles). I spoke to the chef/owner who was delightful as was his wife (hostess) and other Nepalese wait staff. I asked the chef for the recipe for the soup and he was pleased to come and tell me:

Cook yellow onion in pan with salt and pepper, add ginger, garlic paste and cook until light brown in color. Meanwhile, cut up chicken and lamb in small pieces, then add to cooked onion mixture, test for salt and pepper, then add water and cook. Later add chopped cabbage, carrot, celery and cook, then scramble egg, chop up and add to soup, then add chopped scallions and cilantro, cook noodles separately and add them to the top of the soup, let simmer and serve.

I had Yak Mo-Mo (ground yak meat seasoned and stuffed dumpling). We shared a pot of Chamomile tea and Chyamtange Dhopzi (stone ground Whole -wheat fine flour flat-leavened bread baked in clay oven).
Tomorrow we are off to Telluride to see Kate and Nathan. On our way we will drive up the scenic San Juan Skyway via Silverton, over the beautiful Red Pass, through Ouray, Ridgeway and if we survive without driving over the edge of the cliffs, Telluride!

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Photos

Mexican Hat near Bluff, Utah
Look carefully to see the flat "hat" rock balancing on the tall rock in the foreground

Hole In The Rock Pioneer Wagon in Bluff
In 1880 families of the San Juan Mission blazed a road west through some of the most rugged terrain in American

First glimpse of Canyon de Chelly
The lighter colored trees are the Russian Olive, planted by the Civilian Conservation Corps for erosion...now they are invasive water hogs, but pretty...

Another expansive view of beautiful Canyon de Chelly
The brown streaks on the cliffs beyond are streaked with what the Navajo call Desert Varnish.

Tse Na ashjee ii (Spider Rock) behind me from Spider Rock Overlook, Canyon de Chelly
The needle shaped rock below represents Holy Spider Woman who is an important deity in Navajo mythology. It was she who taught the People how to weave.

Cliff Palace in Mesa Verde
Oldest "house" in the northern hemisphere.

Long House on Wetherill Mesa
This is the second largest pueblo in the US and second oldest "house" in the northern hemisphere.

Comments

[Maisondubonheur]

Wonderful entry!
You did a trip definitively on my wish list...great entry!